


Yearning for release

by ashcat



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Pre-Canon, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-30
Updated: 2010-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:24:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashcat/pseuds/ashcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal wants to come out of prison unchanged, so he must find ways to hold onto himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yearning for release

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to [Rebirth](http://community.livejournal.com/whitecollarfic/168840.html) which is Kate's POV of same time period. (Don't have to read it to enjoy this one).
> 
> Huge thanks to afiawri for her hand holding and encouragement on this and to hoosierbitch for finding time to beta this &lt;3 on short notice!! :)

Neal doesn't touch himself the night after Kate's weekly visit. It'd be too painful, in the aftermath of having her so close, yet unable to touch her, to smell her, forever separated by plexiglass.

He tries to be so strong during her visits, to smile for her because she looks so sad and lost staring at him. He tries to make her believe it isn't so bad in here, but he isn't sure if he's succeeding. He likes to save up his own caresses, wait until it's almost time for her next visit, when he's aching with loneliness. When he feels like he's going insane from the tedium of his days, where everything is regimented, assigned, dictated. When her letters are the only thing that keeps him from seriously planning escape, or giving up entirely.

When almost no choice but _this_ is his to decide. That's when he finally gives in.

He has to be so quiet, laying on his hard mattress amongst the sea of other prisoners. He's trained himself to come silently; to expel his pleasure in a few harsh, muffled breaths; instead of the moans and cries he was accustomed to before. This clandestine diversion is the only pleasure he has left, the only one that he is allowed for the next two long years. He's almost forgotten what it feels like to have loving hands trace over his skin, pinch his nipples, stroke his burning cock. He has to remind himself of a lover's caresses, because he wants to come out of prison unchanged.

He wants to slip back into his life with Kate and Mozzie like nothing happened. Next time, he'll be smarter, faster, more inventive... uncatchable.

Neal can clearly picture them in his apartment in Sorrento, Kate's hair flowing around her pert breasts, nipples still hard and skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat as she pants, Neal's come already leaking out of her to pool onto their bed as she shifts. Neal sees himself climbing out of bed, chin sticky and his spent cock sated, singing snatches of whatever operas come to mind in Italian. Mozzie's voice coming through the door yelling at him to quit preening and get out there. They could live off the spoils he'd horded and not have to forge, con, or steal again if they so desired. Neal knew that his _insurance policy_ would come in handy, he had planned for his potential capture.

What he hadn't planned for was the stark reality of incarceration. Every action performed on someone else's command; what clothes to wear, when and what he eats, when to sleep or wake, what he could do (which was precious little). Neal had been on his own since he was 15, and here at 29 he is being forced into such a tight mold that it more than chaffed, it rubbed his nerves raw. All the noise, the anger, the pent up frustration and adrenaline with nowhere to go, left him feeling frayed and on edge.

The sheer isolation from any companionable human touch had taken it's toll. Neal never realized how dependent he is on touch as a form of communication with others (marks, partners, lovers) until he can't expression himself that way. Here, where any attempt to touch is interpreted as sexual, he has to keep to himself or suffer the dire consequences. Neal is a very tactile person, and this total lack of positive physical stimulation brings a wave of dark depression that wasn't anticipated in his hypothetical prison scenarios.

It's been four days since Kate's visit and Neal _needs_ this. Lights out was thirty minutes ago so most of the block has quieted down, and Neal strips off his t-shirt and rolls it up in preparation. He traces his chapped lips, evoking memories of Kate's sweet kisses, how she tasted so clean and a little salty. Neal licks his finger tips and begins rubbing his nipples, pressing them into his chest then pinching the hard nubs to stretch them outward. Neal closes his eyes and lets his mental film roll.

Picturing Kate straddling him, her knees digging into his hips as she rests her hot sex against him, her delicate fingers working his nipples, her blue eyes shining with desire. Neal leaves one hand to tease at his nipple while the other adventures down his naked torso, running down his chest and over his defined abs. He's had nothing but time to exercise, to make sure he is in top form in case an opportunity presents itself for escape. He's always prepared.

He lets his memories wash over him accompanied by the physical sensations. Imagining what it felt like to plunge into Kate's tight heat, the wet, filthy noises their bodies made as she rode him, his hands holding her hips as he pushed into her, her long dark hair swaying on either side of her face with each thrust. His right hand follows the light trail of hair from his belly button, under his ugly orange pants and stiff prison issue briefs, down to his cock. He grabs his half hard length and starts gently stroking, his dry palm and fingers making the motion harsh. It's an added bit of spice for his teasing, a beautiful counterpoint to how gently he's tweaking his nipples which are hot and hard from his ministrations.

Neal alternates his rhythm, sometimes gripping firmly as he drags his hand down, and then following the motion up with a gentle, loose fist ghosting over his sensitized skin. It's all a tease for now, trying to lull himself into thinking he's somewhere else, that the bangs and curses and shouts that accompany ever night of his confinement aren't there. That he isn't shamefully biting into his shirt at the feeling of his own hands on his skin, conning himself into believing that he's anywhere else but here.

Neal keeps stroking, roughly pulling the delicate skin of his cock back and forth so that it is almost more painful than pleasurable. Kate is over him, her eyes dark with pleasure, pupils blown as she forcefully rides his cock, making him beg her to come. Neal diverts a moan as his motions get more frantic. He pinches his nipple hard, letting his nail scrape it as he tries to wring the orgasm from his tired, attention starved body. When he does finally come, semen spilling over his hand into his wiry black pubic hair, it's to the image of Kate's body, Kate's permission to do so, her look of adoration as she watches him shudder in release.

In Neal's mind, it's just him and Kate, together again.


End file.
